What I Really Want
by ObsessiveFanNumber1
Summary: Britain has a special early Christmas present for America. It's fine that Canada comes with, but France is a different story. But maybe America & Canada are the only ones who know what they're doing and get everything right. Late X-Mas story. Please R&R!


**Hey there, people! *celebrates* My first Hetalia fic! That's definitely reason to celebrate! Anyways, I know it's a day after Christmas already, but I wrote this for a contest between some of my friends, and the last day to "turn in" your entry was today, and between life and Christmas, I haven't been able to get on the computer at all. So it's a day late. *smiles* Of course, as my first Hetalia fic, it's a Chibimerica and Britain one. Why? 'Cause they're my favorite characters! *grins* There's also a lot of little Canada and France, too. I haven't seen any of World Series (my knowledge of anything beyond Axis Powers and Paint it White is from Wikipedia), so gomenasai if anything that's explained in that is OOC. *sighs* You all know how it goes—I don't own Hetalia. *cries* If I did, America would still be Britain's little brother in both of their minds, and everyone would love Canada like I do. Anyways, I've rambled enough, so onto the fic! Happy Holidays/Merry Christmas, everyone!**

* * *

"America," Britain called, shutting the door. "I'm back!"

"You're here!" America tackled him in a hug. Britain laughed, hugging him back, but a bit miffed when he realized America had grown again. _Someday, I'm going to get back, and he'll be all grown-up…_ Shaking his head to get rid of the thought, he ruffled America's hair, smiling. "Guess what!" America said excitedly, bouncing up and down.

"What?"

"It's almost Christmas!" the young nation nearly shouted eagerly.

Surprised (he hadn't been paying attention to the date much), Britain said, "It is?" He glanced at the calendar and had to smile. "There's still two weeks left."

"But it's closer than it's been all year!"

Britain couldn't help smiling at his enthusiasm and outlook. "That it is, America," he said, lifting his little brother in the air and spinning him a few times. He personally wasn't a huge fan of the holiday, but he knew how much America loved it. "Have you gotten presents for anyone yet?"

Snuggling in, America nodded. "Santa Claus is gonna come, right?"

"Well—" Britain hesitated. He would never be able to tell the child that he didn't have a shred of belief in America's Christmas icon. "—you know the rules. Behave, and you'll get presents. Otherwise, December twenty-fifth isn't going to be a fun day for you at all."

"Right." America laid his head on Britain's shoulder, anxiety seeping into his eyes. He'd never asked Britain about this before, and he was nervous Britain would say no. "Hey, Britain?"

"Yes?"

"Will you help me write a letter? To Santa?"

Britain nearly let go out of surprise. "What?" He looked at America, careful to keep any emotion other than surprise out of his eyes. "You…want _my_ help…writing a letter…to Santa Claus?" America nodded, eyes full of worry. Stunned, Britain said, "What do you need my help for with that?"

"I've never done it before," America said nervously. His bright blue eyes were anxious when he tugged on Britain's sleeve like he did whenever he wanted something that he felt Britain had said no to already. "But I wanna try it this year. Will you help me? Please?"

"I—" Britain didn't dare disappoint him, but he couldn't outright _lie_. Not to America. "—I'll see what I can do," he said finally, resolved to that he would have to find some way out of this later.

"Thanks, Britain!" America snuggled in closer.

Even with doubting he could easily end this without too much trouble, Britain smiled and ruffled America's hair, making the younger nation laugh. "You're welcome," he said, holding his little brother close. It truly was simply impossible to worry about anything except America himself any time he was around the young nation. And that wasn't a bad thing.

"Hey, big brother?" America asked. "When will Canada get back so we can write his letter, too?"

Choosing his words carefully to upset America as little as possible, Britain said, "He's spending Christmas with France, remember?" He sort of tried to keep the hatred out of his voice—America didn't necessarily need to pick up the animosity between him and France—but didn't make an effort beyond sort of. "That blasted frog mentioned it last time he picked Canada up."

"Again?" America glared at the ground, upset. "But he spent _last_ Christmas with France—_and_ birthday! Why can't he spend it with _us_ for once?" Frustrated tears were brimming in his eyes, and his little hands were clenched into fists.

Forcing himself not to smile at how cute his little brother was, Britain gently pushed the hair out of America's eyes. "Probably because France is jealous that he only has Canada, while I have both of you as my little brothers," he said gently.

Pouting and hugging Britain around the neck, America said, "He _always_ takes Canada away. Stupid France."

"That he is, America. That he is." Britain held America close. The little nation tried and failed to stifle a yawn, snuggling closer. Smiling and wondering how much sleep America had skipped on while waiting for him, Britain softly started to sing a lullaby, and within minutes, America was fast asleep. Careful to not wake him, Britain carried him to his room and tucked him in. "Always falling asleep on me," he said softly, eyes shining. "And now you want my help with a letter to Santa Claus, huh? I have no idea how the h*ll I'm going to do that…" He started to leave, but stopped at the sight of a poster on the wall. It showed only the silhouettes of the sleigh, the reindeer, et cetera, flying past the moon. Britain stared at it for a second before the idea sank in. _Of course! Why didn't I think of it while he was awake?_ He really did know why—America would've gotten excited and never let himself go to sleep—but he still had barely shut the door before he'd taken off running so he could hopefully get this taken care of before America woke up.

* * *

"_S'il vous_ _plait, Papa?_" Canada pleaded, tugging on France's hand.

"_Non_," France said firmly, laying his free hand on Canada's head for a second before turning away again.

"But—"

"_**Non**_," France repeated. With a sigh, he turned back and knelt to be at Canada's eye level. "What is wrong, Canada?" he asked, switching to English to be easier understood; the young nation's French could still use some work at this point. "You aren't usually this fussy over Christmas."

Letting go of France's hand to clutch Kumajiro closer, Canada fidgeted a little. He didn't like being stared at. Even when it came to France and Britain. America like being the center of attention, not him. "Well—it's not that I don't want to be with you, Papa," he said anxiously after hesitating for a moment. "It's just that I—"

"—want to be with Amérique more, no?" France said gently with a kind smile. After a second of trying to figure out if France was upset by that or not, Canada nodded quickly. "That is simple enough to fix," the blonde nation said, smiling. "Amérique will come and spend Christmas with us."

"Really? He can?" Canada's face lit up.

"Of course he can," France said, laying his hand on Canada's head and smiling at him. "Amérique has never seen a _Noël français_ before, after all."

"_Merci, Papa!_" Canada cried, hugging him. Eyes gleaming, France hugged him back, glad the idea made Canada so happy. Excitement, however, did not cause the young nation to lose his head, and he asked, "What about Britain? Won't he want to spend Christmas with America, too?"

"Ohohoho, leave Angleterre to me," France said, the sparkle in his eyes becoming mischievous.

"But he hates you," Canada pointed out bluntly. "Won't he just say no to you right away?"

"Don't you worry about Angleterre, Canada. I will take care of him," France promised, his smile on the verge of being a smirk. He was going to have fun with this. Canada nodded, oblivious to the idea that Britain's and France's rivalry might throw a giant wrench in their Christmas plans.

* * *

America crept downstairs cautiously, trying to be quiet. He was trying to be like a spy, like how Britain was sometimes. After all, how cool would that be if the hero was a spy, too? He peeked past the wall, but realized no one was there except him. "Britain?" he called, worried, his spy act forgotten. _He didn't leave again, did he?_ Panicking, he ran out into the center of the main room, but Britain was gone. _No! Not again!_ America plopped down on the floor with an empty look on his face; the only feeling breaking through the numb was how upset he was. _But he promised last time he wouldn't leave without telling me! Why did he break his promise?_ Tears started rolling down his face. "Britain," he whimpered, crying silently. "Come back."

The door opened, making him scamper away to hide behind the couch. _Britain?_ He heard the sound of the door closing and an annoyingly familiar voice calling, "Ohohoho, are you home, Amérique?"

America groaned. _Why France? I want Britain, not __**him**__!_ "No," he said, pulling a blanket over his head.

"Nice try," France said lightly, darting over by the couch and pulling the blanket off to reveal a chibi nation glaring up at him with the slightest pout. "But you responded."

"Go away," America said, trying to hide the fact that his cheeks were stinging from rubbing them so hard to get rid of his tears before France could see that he'd been crying. The hero didn't show when he was hurt—ever. Somebody else was hurting more, although he had no idea who in this case.

"Hi, America." Canada's head popped up over the top of the couch.

"Canada!" America had jumped over the couch, tackled Canada, and was hugging him tightly around the neck on the ground in less than a second. "Youcameyoucameyoucame!"

"Ow! America!" Canada squirmed under his brother's hug, trying to get free from America's choke grip. "Maple leaf!" he cursed under his breath. "America, you're choking me!"

"Wait 'til Britain sees you're here!" America cried, ignoring Canada's protests and snuggling closer against him. "He'll be happy, too!"

"Where _is_ Angleterre?" France asked, looking around as Canada finally squirmed free. "He _was_ coming over, wasn't he?" Canada nodded, looking at his brother.

"He's—" America started, glaring over his shoulder at France, but he was cut off.

"What the bloody h*ll are you doing here, France?" Britain stormed in and grabbed France by the back of the neck to strangle him.

"You're back, Britain!" Relief flooded America's eyes. _So he didn't break his promise! He came back!_

"Angleterre, do not get so worked up," France said with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. "I was simply bringing Canada over for a visit."

"A visit?" Canada frowned. "Papa, you said we were going to bring America back to spend Christmas with us this year."

"**WHAT?**" Britain shouted and redoubled strangling France. "America is MY little brother, you blasted frog!"

"Really, allow me to explain," France said, the calm tone ruined a little by the fact that he was struggling. Finally, he managed to pry Britain's hands off and quickly backed away, stopping in front of Canada. "Canada wants to spend Christmas with Amérique this year."

"Then he can," Britain said and extended a hand to Canada. "You know you can be here with us for anything, Canada."

"_Non, non, non!_" France wagged his finger at Britain scoldingly. "What about me then?"

"You expect me to care?" Britain muttered.

"But—then Papa will be alone for Christmas!" Canada cried, running up and grabbing Britain's sleeve. "Don't let that happen! _S'il vous plait!_"

Britain stared at him for a few seconds before it sank in. _He just spoke in French!_ "FRANCE!" He grabbed France's wrist, pulling free of Canada at the same time, and twisted the blonde nation's arm back, kicking him behind the knee to make him stumble and shoving him to the ground without letting go. "Canada is **my** colony, too, you bloody git," he growled, stomping on France's back, "and don't go trying to convince anyone differently!"

Seeing Canada's horrified expression, America knew they had to do something, before Britain could get **really** angry with France. Sometimes, people the hero didn't like were the ones in trouble, but as the hero, he had to step up and do something anyways, even if he'd regret it later when those people were being annoying. He whispered to Canada for a second before taking a deep breath. "Stop it!" he shouted, tackling Britain and clinging to the older nation's neck, both putting himself between Britain and France and giving Canada a chance to scamper over to France.

"America…" Britain was still for a few moments before he slowly backed off from France. Only then did America snuggle closer, trembling.

"Papa!" Anxiously, Canada tried to get France up while Britain whispered soothing words to America. "Are you alright?"

Cautiously sitting up and wincing when his back moved, France managed a semi-reassuring smile. "Do not worry, Canada. I will be fine." He rubbed his arm, grimacing at the pain. _Angleterre certainly has not lost his touch._

"You still haven't told me why you left," America said in a shaking voice, his trembling finally slowing. He'd been scared to death that Britain would react to someone getting in the way without even realizing it was America, but he couldn't admit that. The hero never admitted when he was scared.

Holding him close, Britain mentally swore at himself for not getting back before America woke up. "I didn't mean to scare you," he said softly, pushing the young nation's hair out of his bright blue eyes. "I was checking that an extra surprise would be ready for you. That was all."

"Extra surprise?" America looked up at him. "What do you mean?"

"It wouldn't be a surprise if I told you, now would it?" Britain gave him a playfully scolding tap on the head, smiling. "We're expected to be there today, so we'd better hurry up and leave."

America nodded eagerly, his fear forgotten. "Can Canada come?"

"There's no reason why not." Britain looked at Canada. "What do you say? Do you want to come with?"

"Please?" America added, leaning forward toward his brother.

Holding Kumajiro with one hand and gripping France's hand with the other, Canada looked up at France, who smiled and nodded once. Canada looked at America, who was leaning so far forward that he nearly fell and would've if it weren't for Britain's protective grip, and Britain, keeping an eye on both twins with a probably-subconscious smile. The young Canadian looked down and said, "I'll come."

"Yahoo!" America squirmed free of Britain's arms and ran over to hug Canada.

"Then let's go," Britain said with a smile.

"But Papa has to come, too," Canada added, tightening his grip on France's hand. Britain's smile vanished. "Otherwise I don't want to."

"…That doesn't mean he can't come, right?" America looked at Britain, who had his eyes shut so as not to glare at Canada for wanting France to come with.

Surprised, France stared at Canada. He knew how sensitive the young nation was, and how deeply Canada cared about him, but he'd also accepted as a fact that Canada wanted more strongly to be with America. It was only natural; America was actually his brother. He certainly didn't **blame** Canada for it. But he didn't think the stubbornness in the young nation's eyes had ever been this strong, even when asking to go be with America. France smiled; the reassurance of seeing how much Canada cared about him was nice. "Of course I will come with," he said, laying his free hand on Canada's head.

"Wait a bloody minute; who says you're coming, frog?" Britain demanded, glaring fire at France.

"It looks like Canada has decided," France said with a wink at Canada. "Come now, Angleterre, do not tell me you will say no and have both Canada and Amérique upset with you."

After a moment of angry silence, Britain was forced to admit defeat with a simple nod. He couldn't disappoint America by not letting Canada come only because he wanted France to come with. "Let's go then," he said, resigned to the fact that it was going to be all four of them this year. He would make it up to America next year.

* * *

"We're here," Britain said with a smile. "You can uncover your eyes now, America, Canada."

"Finally!" America pulled his hands away from his eyes eagerly and didn't hesitate a second to grab Canada's wrists to force him to do the same. Britain stifled a laugh; the way he said it made it seem like Britain had forced him to cover his eyes, but it had been completely America's idea. "Whoa!" America's face lit up at the sight of all the decorations, and he ran ahead of the others, nearly tripping on his way down the hill.

"Are we at Finland's?" Canada asked, looking at France and Britain.

Britain nodded, smiling at how Canada stayed so calm while America was so hyper. "Who better to visit right before Christmas?"

"Cool!" America shouted, bouncing up and down with excitement. He was too excited to keep still. "Britain, Canada, come see this! He's got real reindeer! And the sleigh and everything! Just like Santa Claus!"

"Really?" Curiosity overpowering him, Canada ran after his brother. He'd heard about Finland being like Santa, but he'd never actually seen it.

From the hill, Britain watched them, smiling when Canada slowed when he got down there, reaching toward the reindeer a little before pulling his hand back nervously. America frowned and ran over behind Canada, pushing him toward the nearest reindeer saying, "Go on! Pet him!" Uncertainly, Canada laid his hand on the reindeer's shoulder, but he laughed a little when it turned its head and nuzzled against his shoulder and stroked its nose, hugging it around the neck and trying to be subtle about it. Britain saw the pride in America's grin at Canada before the older brother vaulted off the ground and landed on the reindeer's back. The green-eyed nation nearly panicked, but the reindeer didn't seem to care; it only pushed its nose under Canada's hand again, making Canada laugh. _This is how it should be,_ Britain thought, smiling and stifling laughter at America whining for the reindeer to fly already. _Both of them together—and, more importantly, happy._

"Seeing the two of them together like this," France said, coming up behind Britain. "It certainly makes you wish they will never grow up, no?"

"For once, frog," Britain said, glancing over his shoulder at him, "we can agree on something."

France watched the young nations in silence for a moment. "You still have not told Amérique you do not believe in Santa Claus, have you?"

"I'll tell **my** little brother what I bloody well want," Britain said tensely, the moment of almost-friendship between the two gone as quickly as it'd come.

"You realize Canada has figured out that you don't believe." France remembered how solemn Canada had looked when he'd asked if Britain really believed in Santa Claus or if he was pretending for his and America's sake. The young nation had been so somber that lying hadn't been an option.

_That's because Canada now is more mature than America probably ever will be._ Britain knew it was true. America goofed around too much; he would definitely grow up to be even more immature. That did nothing to stop him from caring about him, though; in fact, it was more reason to protect him. But he also knew better than to say it aloud; France would tell America in effort to turn him against Britain. "He cares too much about America to tell him. I know how Canada is just as much as you do."

"Angleterre, do you honestly presume you know Canada so well?" France said, watching him.

"What the bloody h*ll makes you think I don't?" Britain demanded, turning on him.

"Perhaps the fact that Amérique has always been your favorite?" France suggested with an innocent shrug. "You never have been good at _égalité_. Amérique is upset when Canada spends Christmas with me, but not every year was my suggestion to him."

"That's ridiculous!" Britain snapped.

"Canada might tell Amérique to protect him from finding out later. I know him well enough for that," France said, his eyes adding, _unlike you._ It was that look that made Britain lunge at him to strangle him.

* * *

While the two of them were fighting, the New World nations were still playing with the reindeer, both completely oblivious to the fact that Britain was trying to kill France. "Come on, Dasher!" America pleaded, leaning forward and wrapping his arms around the reindeer's neck. "I wanna fly!"

"Dasher?" Canada looked over. He'd moved on to the next reindeer, feeding it an apple slice he'd found in his pocket.

"Uh-huh." America pointed at each reindeer as he named them. "Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Vixen, Comet, Cupid, Donder, and Blitzen. That's their names."

"…Did you just decide that, or did Finland?"

"Nobody **decided**; it's just their names!"

Rolling his eyes, Canada smiled and stroked the reindeer America had dubbed as Dancer's muzzle. "You're weird, America."

"America! Canada!" The door opened, and Finland stepped out dressed fully like Canada, startling and amazing Canada. He shrunk behind Dancer a little.

"Hi, Finland," America said, carefully casual. He remembered how Finland had been there, too, the first time he'd spied on Britain. Honestly, he was still a bit cautious of being this near Finland without Britain—Finland **had** been trying to get into the fight over him—so he tightened his grip around Dasher's neck a little. "Can you get Dasher to fly?"

Finland laughed. "Afterwards, America. First, I hear you haven't written a letter to Santa yet?"

"…Not yet…" America looked down for a second before perking up. "But Britain's gonna help me this year!"

"He is?" Surprised, Canada looked at him. _So he didn't tell America that he doesn't believe in Santa Claus?_ America nodded proudly.

"Come on, let's go inside," Finland said cheerfully, holding out a hand to America. Warily, America took it, and Finland helped him off of Dasher. "The two of you can get started on your letters, and Britain can catch up later."

"And Papa," Canada added firmly, taking Finland's other offered hand, now thoroughly convinced that Finland wasn't bad.

"And France," America agreed without much enthusiasm, but he knew how important France was to Canada. Sure enough, his younger brother beamed, making pride well up inside America. If this was how Britain felt about him, he was even happier that he was Britain's little brother.

Finland brought them to a room that looked exactly like a smaller version of Santa's workshop, minus the toys and elves, amazing the New World nations. "Writing a letter to Santa is easy," he said encouragingly, sitting them each in front of paper and pencils. "All you have to do is write 'Dear Santa', write what you want for Christmas, and sign your name at the end. Go ahead, try!" America went straight to work, scribbling away. Canada thought a little longer before he started to write, too. While they wrote, Finland went around the room setting up decorations, stringing up lights, pulling out tinsel, and generally being more Christmas-y than either was used to. He even turned on Christmas music and turned the volume up super high. It was a blast for all three.

* * *

Outside, however, was not nearly as much in the Christmas spirit. By now, as a result of not keeping his mouth shut, France's left eye was black, and a spot on his face was bleeding thanks to Britain slugging him hard enough to break skin, among other bruises. Britain's jacket was torn, and he had his share of small bruises as well, although not once had he gotten anything that hurt enough for him to count it as an injury. It was pretty clear who was winning. A split-second pause, though, was all it took for Britain to notice… "Where are America and Canada?"

France froze, too; concern for their colonies was definitely reason to stop fighting between themselves. "The reindeer are missing, too…"

"Did Finland ever come out to get them…?" Britain looked at France. The elder nation's eyes made the message clear enough: _I don't know, either, but there's one way to find out._ Both of them took off running toward Finland's house, their fight completely forgotten now, Britain yelling for America and France shouting Canada's name.

* * *

"I think I'm done now!" America announced, holding up twelve pieces of paper that were covered front and back with writing, grinning proudly. The Christmas music was turned up too loud for them to hear Britain and France shouting for them. Canada's mouth fell open, and his eyes went as wide as the ornaments Finland had been putting up all afternoon, staring at his brother. _I thought __**I**__ asked a lot!_ He looked down at the two pieces of paper, both sides written on, in his hands. It'd **seemed** like a fair amount—some of it was questions, and most of what he'd asked for wasn't **too** expensive—well, except maybe the year-round fall-colored maple tree for outside his house, but that was only one thing. Then again, maybe his letter was reasonable, and America was overdoing things a ton again. That had to be it, especially since some of the things he'd asked for didn't cost money at all.

"Great job, America!" Finland smiled and turned to Canada. "What about you, Canada?" The young Canadian nodded mutely, slightly lifting up his two sheets of paper. "Perfect! Now we—"

Suddenly, the door burst open, cutting him off, and Britain and France bolted in. Next thing the New World nations knew, America was in Britain's arms, and France had pulled Canada close; both were keeping an extremely firm, protective grip. "Thank goodness you're alright," Britain whispered, tightening his grip.

"Huh? Why wouldn't we be?" America tilted his head, completely oblivious to why Britain was worried about them.

"Papa, you're bleeding!" Canada cried anxiously, pressing his hand against the spot.

France wiped away some of the blood. "Only a light skirmish injury," he assured him, closing his hand around Canada's. Hugging him, France softly said, "You scared us."

"We did?" Surprised and confused, Canada looked at him.

"How come?" America asked, squirming because Britain's grip was so tight.

The older nations exchanged a look, silently agreeing that neither would explain how panicked they'd been. "We didn't know where you'd vanished to," Britain answered simply, pushing America's hair out of his eyes. "Of course we were scared."

"Sorry," Canada said, looking down.

France smiled and laid a comforting hand on Canada's head. "It's all right, Canada. You weren't trying to scare us. But…_s'il vous plait_, don't do that again without telling me." Realizing France sincerely wasn't mad, only scared, Canada smiled and nodded.

"Neither of you are ever running off like that when you're with me without telling me first," Britain said firmly, tightening his grip protectively.

"Britain!" America finally squirmed free and landed on his feet next to his big brother, though he did still grab Britain's hand. "We didn't **run off**. All we did was come inside with Finland, and that's why we came, wasn't it? To see Finland? You and France just weren't there." He hesitated for a moment, looking at both of them. "Where **were** you, anyways?"

"…That's not important," Britain said, glancing at France, who ever so slightly nodded. They both knew America had a point, and that he would stubbornly return to it if they kept pushing the matter. Changing the subject altogether so that America and Canada couldn't press to find out more, he asked, "Did you two finish your letters?"

"Uh-huh! Twelve pages!" America held up the pages proudly. Britain's eyes widened.

"I'm done, too," Canada said softly, tightening his grip on his letter.

France smiled, but he was trying not to laugh at Britain's stunned, shocked expression. _Angleterre certainly was not expecting __**that**__!_ "Then shall we go home?" he said, standing and taking Canada's hand.

"Wait a minute!" America protested. "Finland promised I could ride Dasher while he was flying!" He tugged on Britain's hand. "Please, can I? Pretty please?"

"Hm?" Britain snapped out of his shock for a moment and looked at America. The pleading in his little brother's eyes was enough to make him say, "Go ahead."

"Yahoo!" America ran outside with Canada close behind him. With a smile, Finland followed them, whistling for Dasher.

"Twelve pages…!" Britain leaned against the wall, shocked. "He wrote twelve bloody pages of things he wants…!"

"Perhaps this is the year to start believing, Angleterre," France teased. "Otherwise you will have a disappointed Amérique on Christmas Day."

Britain shook his head slowly. "He can't honestly think he'll get all of it…" he murmured, even as he wondered, _Can he?_

"You know Amérique better than I do," France said with a shrug, taking a bit of pity on Britain. "We should go outside to get them." Gently, he pushed Britain out the door, figuring Britain was too much in shock to do anything on his own yet.

As soon as they were outside, Canada ran up to them. "Look!" he said eagerly, pointing up in the sky, eyes glowing with excitement.

Following where he was pointing was enough to actually snap Britain out of his shock. America was riding Dasher through the air, all right—he was only holding on with his knees, his eyes were shut, he was leaning back as far as he could, and he was shouting, "Higher!" at the top of his lungs and laughing, waving around eagerly. He was having the time of his life.

"**Who the bloody h*ll gave him permission to do that?**" Britain demanded furiously, the look in his eyes making it clear that he would strangle whoever it was.

Covering Canada's mouth, France winked at him and whispered, "Angleterre was a **bit** too much in shock to realize what he was saying Amérique could do." Understanding, Canada nodded.

Dasher landed, and America jumped off, running over to Britain. "Did you see how high he flew while I was riding him?" he said eagerly, tugging on Britain's sleeve. His eyes were shining; enthusiasm practically radiated off of him.

"Yes we did," Britain said with a silent sigh. _D*mm*t, the one who gave him permission was __**me**__._ He couldn't really scold America for it when the young nation was only guilty of having fun with it, especially with how excited America was now. "Come on," he said, taking America's hand. "Let's go home."

America nodded. He hesitated for a second before uneasily looking at France. "Um…France?" he said uncertainly. "Could Canada sleep over tonight? Please?"

Canada's eyes widened. _America's asking Papa? For __**anything**__? _"_Joli _s_'il vous plait, Papa?_" he added, turning to France, though his eyes were still on America.

Surprised by both of them, France nonetheless smiled kindly. "Of course."

He was nearly knocked over from being tackled in a hug. "_Merci, Papa,_" Canada said happily, snuggling closer. Hugging him back, France smiled. _He certainly has grown more outgoing since we found him. And it seems Amérique only enhances that._

Britain met Finland's eyes; the silent thanks was acknowledged with a nod. The four others left, leaving Finland to call out after them, "Merry Christmas!"

* * *

"I'll have to go through them sooner or later," Britain said with a quiet sigh, holding the twelve sheets of paper that made up America's letter to Santa. It was a quarter to midnight. After a lot of protesting, America and Canada had finally gone to bed, both asleep almost instantly. Neither had noticed Britain quietly take their Santa letters.

"If you're going to finish reading Amérique's letter before they wake," France said, taking Canada's letter, "then you'd best start now."

Britain glared at him. "Why the h*ll are you still here, anyways?"

"Why would I go home and come back tomorrow when I can stay and frustrate you all night?" France said innocently, shrugging.

"Frog," Britain muttered under his breath, turning to the papers. In response, he was called something in French that he ignored only for the sake of not waking America and Canada, focusing on the letter instead. Right away, he knew he would have a migraine by the end of this.

_Dear Santa Claus,_ (it read)

_Stuff I want for Christmas:_

_-My own ship—Britain says I'm too young to go on voyages with him, but if I have my own ship, he'll __have__ to let me come!_

_-Proof that I'm the hero, so other people (like France) can't say I'm not_

_-Something to keep ghosts away from me, Britain, and Canada (even if Britain doesn't think they're real)_

_-An alien best friend—that would be the coolest thing ever!_

And so it went on, for twelve pages, from the somewhat-reasonable to the ridiculous. On and on, until the bottom of the last page.

_Hey, by the way, you are real, right? Not just Finland? You can prove it, right? 'Cause I don't think Britain's a big fan of yours. But if he gets proof, he'll have to get excited about you visiting on Christmas, too. Could you prove it to him, that you __are__ real?_

_Oh yeah, and one more thing. I had to save the most important for last. Can you make Britain and Canada stay with me more often? I know Canada has to be with France sometimes, and Britain has his voyages and all that, but I want to spend more time with them. I miss them when they're gone all the time, and I'm sick of it. So could you maybe make that one happen the most? Pretty please?_

—_The Hero,_

_America—_

Britain smiled sadly at the last paragraph. _America… That wish isn't your alone. Do you realize that?_

"Here, Angleterre," France said, handing him the other two sheets of paper. "Glance over Canada's if you have finished with Amérique's. His most important wish will take mutual effort."

Taking Canada's letter, Britain looked at him like he was crazy. "What wish would that be?" he said half-sarcastically. France only motioned to the papers, unusually serious, and sipped some wine that he must've grabbed while Britain was reading America's letter. Britain rolled his eyes and looked at Canada's letter. In a way, it was almost a relief from America's; Canada's had a much softer tone to it, whereas America's was full of his usual loud presence, and a lot of it was questions for Santa Claus rather than just a list of what he wanted. It wasn't until the end when he actually got to the asking for what he wanted part.

_Oh, right—America just reminded me I'm supposed to ask for what I want, too. Um…I don't want to ask for too much, but do you think you could maybe find some way to make Papa and Britain not fight so much? They're always bickering and that, and I'm tired of it. I care about both of them, but neither of them seems to notice or remember that when they get started. Papa teases Britain about something or Britain gets mad at Papa for trying to do stuff for me and America, and they go off fighting again. I know Britain's just trying to protect me and America, and Papa is only having fun, but I'm sick of trying to choose between them. So if you could get them to stop fighting, at least when I'm around, maybe? That's what I want most. 'Cause then they won't get in fights on Christmas, either, so if I can have that, I think that'll be good for most of my presents. And if they don't fight, then I can come be with America more without Papa and Britain fighting. Um…don't tell them I said all this, s'il vous plait. They'll get upset that I didn't ask them to their faces._

It went on to a couple of other things, but Britain kept going back and rereading that paragraph. _Canada…_ "You realize," he said quietly, setting the letter down, "neither of us can claim to know him as well as we were if we never saw how much our fighting was affecting him."

"You've read it then?" France wasn't really asking. He took another sip of wine and looked down at it, the emotion in his eyes heavy. "All this time, thinking he was content how things were."

"He **was** content to accept it," Britain said, massaging his temple. "It's **happy** that he wasn't." _I cannot believe I'm doing this. _He looked at France out of the corner of his eye. "At least for the holiday?"

France smiled and nodded. "For Canada's sake."

* * *

Upstairs, America stirred. "Canada?" he whispered. "Are you awake?" The only response from his brother was the quiet sound of breathing. America tried to turn, but felt arms around his neck tighten. _Huh?_ He managed to squirm enough to turn toward his brother. Canada was fast asleep, snuggled with his head against America's shoulder and Kumajiro above his head, his paw acting as a pillow. He'd fallen asleep hugging his brother around the neck. America relaxed and smiled. "And you say I'm weird," he said quietly, squirming down and hugging Canada back. Eyes closing and already falling back asleep, he whispered, "I love you, too, Canada…"

* * *

**And there it is! By the way, no, that was **_**not**_** a yaoi moment at the end there. That was because America does genuinely love Canada as his brother, and vice versa. So disappointment to AmericaxCanada fans. *shrugs nonchalantly, but can't help smiling* I'm actually really proud of this one—it's one of my better written fics, and I think it's my longest one-shot ever. But what I think doesn't matter, right? You guys want to let me know what **_**you**_** think! So you're gonna review and tell me. Otherwise I'll summon Russia on you. *starts chanting Britain's summoning song* *laughs* Just kidding—probably. Only one way to find out! ;) Merry day-late Christmas, Happy Holidays, and have a happy New Year, everyone!**

**P.S. French-to-English Translations:**

_**S'il vous plait**_** – Please**

_**Non**_** – No**

_**Amérique **_**– America**

_**Angleterre **_**– England**

_**Merci**_** – Thank you**

_**Egalité **_**– Equality**

_**Noël français**_** – French Christmas**

_**Joli s'il vous plait**_** – Pretty please**

**I used an online translator, so apologies if any of it is wrong.**


End file.
